


Excusing the Inexcusable

by Occasionalcoffeethereturn



Category: The X-Files RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2018-12-21 10:00:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11941761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Occasionalcoffeethereturn/pseuds/Occasionalcoffeethereturn
Summary: A reunion for shooting in Vancouver in 2017 isn't as easy as she expects...





	1. Chapter 1

It's probably best she doesn't question why she's here. I mean if you cheat on different partners with the same man it shouldn't count as much, right? Here she was yet again excusing the inexcusable, wondering if she'll be allowed to do the unforgivable. In order to do that she has to be forgiven in the first place and she wasn't sure she will be, at least not completely. To her, being half forgiven with the threat of endless punishment and ploughing over old ground was worse than not being forgiven at all. There may not even be any 'cheating' to speak of tonight. 

The waterfront apartment he's chosen is one block away from the one he rented out two years ago. The one where she'd stayed night after night until she never really left. They'd lived together for the first time and had barely left each other's sides, cramming in the hours they had with one another. They'd laughed, reminisced, and apologised, healing old hurts from a distant past. At night their heads shared the same pillow, his legs tangled with hers and she frequently woke up holding his hand. They'd recovered and renewed their relationship, strengthening it to a point where she thought it might have just been unbreakable. 

There was a small distance between two apartments, yet there was a giant gulf between them. A gulf she'd always feared might rip open, but never thought she'd be the one who started the war. She'd let him love her as she'd always wanted to be loved and she loved him. But there was something deeply unsatisfying about having everything you wanted. What else was there to get? 

It wasn't that she didn't love him, she truly did. She'd never loved anyone as much as she loved him, she'd never been in love with anyone apart from him. But she'd told herself over and over again that the distance between them would make it impossible for things to work between them. She couldn't leave her kids and he couldn't leave his. He'd argued that it wouldn't be long before he could, they were a good few years older than hers and he'd fought his corner hard, promising her he'd make the effort. The sad thing was she knew he meant it but she'd left anyway. 

They'd never spoken to officially break things off, she just let herself drift away from him once she left Vancouver. He found out the hard way that the nail had been hammered into the coffin of their relationship when he saw pictures of her with him. He knew her well enough to spot the forced smile and the paparazzi poise. Anyone who thought that was real needed their head looking at. The contact between them phased out to a dribble until a lame awards ceremony where they both looked as lame as it was; her on crutches and him with his arm in a sling. He hadn't seen her truly smile in months until that day.

She got his address from the guys in transport doing their pick ups, sneaking a quick snap of it on her phone before heading there. It's hitting dusk and there's the odd jogger on their way for a final loop around the sea wall, a dog walker or too. The main building door is huge, eight feet tall with thick turquoise glass and a large metal handle. She rummages in her bag pretending to look for a key and looks grateful as yet another man in gym gear holds it open for her as he heads out. This city is pretty and it's pretty people embrace the outdoor life to match it. If she was more inclined to go for a jog she'd probably join them.

The concierge eyed her suspiciously as she tried to sneak past and hit the elevator button for the twelfth floor. There'd have been a time when they'd have both cared too much about being recognised but she no longer had the energy. She had a hundred and one cover stories up her sleeve to use if she needed to. It wasn't like those awful photos in Italy with Peter weren't conclusive enough that she was with someone else. At least 'on paper' anyway.

She can't help but check herself in the mirrored glass of the elevator as it ascended quickly and silently to his floor. There was still a hint of set make-up and Scully's eyeliner that she left on deliberately even though she knew he wouldn't care what she looked like. He was always telling her how beautiful she was and she was always shying away from the compliment. She couldn't help it, she'd never really felt that it was true in her heart and could never bring herself to believe it.

She held her hand out, the knuckle of her index finger leading and paused for a second, gathering herself together. She suspects this won't be an easy encounter and he won't make it easy for her. He never dealt with hurting particularly well, he just wore it all over his face.

She knocks more confidently than she feels inside right now and smiles to herself as she hears the barks of Brick from behind the door, paws skittering over the floor as he races to the noise. She imagines him skidding to a halt suddenly and waiting for David to catch him up. 

The chain of the door clinks and he opens it a little, careful to not let Brick escape from behind him. He looks at her for a second, his eyes cold and his jaw set. She hurts knowing how much she's hurt him and feels a dull ache in her chest as the back of her throat constricts. She does the only thing she can do and bends down to give Brick a stroke behind the ears, as his tail wags excitedly and he retreats backwards, inviting her in even if his owner is less than sure.

'Hey.'

Her voice is a scratchy whisper as she slowly stretches back up again, adjusting her sunglasses perched on top of her head. Brick is off and pauses to look back at her expectantly, tail still wagging en route to his basket.

He holds the door open with one arm, gesturing with the other to let her by and as she walks inside a well-chewed, obviously loved dog toy is dropped at her feet.

'Someone's pleased to see me at least,' she mumbles under her breath, not sure why she has to start like this already and regretting the words the instant they fell out of her mouth.

He says nothing, just stands in the middle of his apartment and looks at her, bewildered, shocked and at a loss as to what to say all at once.

A damp tennis ball knocks against the edge of her shoe and she rolls it towards the open plan kitchen, stumpy legs running close behind it.

'You want a coffee or something?'

'Sure. I...'

'Or we can just get straight to it, bedroom's upstairs. Then I can see that your requirements are met.' 

Her chin drops to her chest and she looks down at the floor. Just as she thought the ice was about to thaw. He puts the coffee on anyway, taking the jug out the fridge to pour two glasses of water. He may be as mad as hell but his manners are still intact, at least to some degree.

The tennis ball bounces softly at her feet and she bends down again to drop a kiss on top of Brick's head, scratching her fingers through his fur and whispering that she's missed him. Two mugs are slowly taken down from the shelf and he braces both his hands on the kitchen counter, his back still to her.

'Any particular reason for this impromptu visit?'

She falters, flounders and drops her bag at the bottom of the stairs, wringing her hands. The coffee drips through the percolator and she's hypnotised by the motion of the liquid. Brick tucks himself into his basket and whimpers before resting his head on the edge. She wished she could do the same.

'I just thought we should talk, maybe.'

His hands clasp the work surface and he still won't turn to face her. The smell of the coffee starts to permeate the room and she notices the second hand of the clock ticking on by as the stony silence lingers. His fingers start to drum on the granite impatiently.

God damn that coffee for not being done yet.

'You left me.'

She furrows her brows at him, distracted by the ripples of his back muscles that she can see through his shirt. In London it's too many unfastened buttons, short shirt sleeves and a belly too fond of a glass of Malbec that's around to greet her. But not here.

'I didn't leave you, I...'

'The fuck else would you call it then?'

He turns to face her now, arms folded across his chest. 

'Were we not making a future together? Did I get that wrong?'

'You didn't, but it wouldn't have worked...'

'For fuck's sake Gillian!'

He turns and bangs a fist hard on the work surface, forcing the coffee to splutter faster into the jug below. She suspects he's hit himself so hard it's hurting. That makes two of them.

'Your life is in New York...'

'...And you can't leave your kids in London. I get that. I know, you told me a hundred times over...'

'So what choice did I have?'

'Choice? What choice? What the actual fuck do you mean?' 

He is yelling at her now and he never yells. He is incandescent, despairing and positively seething with rage. This wasn't about choice, this was a series of compromises that they could have built on and worked on together. Not about a fucking choice. He's so angry he has to distract himself as he pulls the jug of coffee out from under the filter. It doesn't escape her notice that he's bought the 1% milk that he knows she likes but he hates. He sloshes some into each mug and slides hers over noisily to near where she's standing. She knows he can't go near her and has to keep his distance whilst he cools down. This is not a conversation to sit and have, clearly. It's a conversation where they stand awkwardly and yell at each other in the kitchen while the poor dog has to watch, playing umpire from his basket.

'We *could* have made this work.'

He's quiet now, more his gentle self as he takes a sip of the hot liquid. It seems to soothe him as he leans one elbow down on the kitchen island and stretches out his calf behind him. 

'I don't believe that you believe that.'

He shakes his head, almost laughing at her. He would have made it work. He wanted to make it work, because at the end of the day he wanted her and his need and love for her eclipsed any practicalities she could throw in the way. His kids were older, hers weren't and he accepted that, but she didn't seem to trust how strongly he felt about her. They both knew he was never going to want a British passport but he certainly wasn't against spending a greater proportion of his time in London. Time with her, time supporting her and time together.

She suspects her coming here was a waste of time and they'll only reach an angst-filled stalemate. Work will be awkward with them tiptoeing around each other in avoidance and Chris will be sure to notice. 

'Compromises. Couples make compromises.'

'But we weren't a...'

She regrets her words again instantly as they spill from her lips. 

His steely glaze pierces her and she knows now that she's really overstepped the mark. There may not be any coming back from this.

'What were we then? Fuck buddies? Friends with benefits? In a committed 'adult friendship'?'

'David I'm sorry...'

He grabs his coffee and brushes past her angrily, Brick following close behind him as he opens the sliding doors and goes to stand out on the balcony. He leans over the rail, coffee resting between both hands. She cautiously stands beside him, her hand reaching out to tentatively rest on his arm. Her thumb rubs circles over his firm muscles.

'I am sorry,' she repeats.

'I can only presume you've come here for sex.'

'David....'

'Really? No? You do surprise me. It's all I was to you, really wasn't it? A chance to get yourself off?'

She removes her hand and lets it hang limply by her side, sighing loudly and pinching her finger and thumb across the bridge of her nose.

'I should go.'

'Sure, fine, whatever. Leave just like you did before.'

'Well we're hardly getting anywhere being like this, are we?'

He shakes his head in agreement and takes a sip of his coffee. She returns inside to get hers before joining him again, mirroring his position next to him. Brick watches on silently, lying flopped on the floor in the doorway.

'It was never just sex, you know that.'

'I thought I did,' he murmurs. 'But I'm just not sure of anything anymore.'

'Do you want me to go?'

'You know I don't.' 

They look out over the horizon together, the sun setting over the water and remember happier times on a similar balcony two years before, drinking crisp white wine and feeding each other sushi. He's right, she should have she'd left him properly but really she wishes she'd never left him at all. Being here with him has made her realise she has yet another mess in London to end, though the lack of commitment from Peter to a name a date when he'd fly out to Canada makes her think her decision won't come as much of a surprise to him. Everyone has always suspected there was more to David and Gillian of The X Files than just a friendship.

'You could have given me a chance.'

'I'm sorry.'

'Stop saying you're sorry... if nothing's changed with you, then I don't know why you're here.'

'What do you mean if nothing's changed with me?'

'You know what I mean. Who I mean.'

She paused, sighing. She knew exactly what and who he meant, but wasn't sure what exactly he was getting at.

'So that's it? You don't want to be with me?'

Her voice cracks as she asks him and her eyes become suddenly wet. She wipes at them quickly in desperation before her tears fall but doesn't quite catch the drops in time.

'It's not... I can't....,' he struggles to get his words out as he watches her cry to the side of him. 'I can't be with you when I know you're with him.' 

Her tears are falling in full flow now and there's nothing she can do to stop them. She's not sure what's upsetting her the most, maybe sheer frustration at herself for being in this situation again, maybe because she's hurt David so badly, maybe because she has to hurt the man who's waiting for her back in London. She can't even bring herself to say his name.

She pulls herself away from him, coffee left unfinished on the ledge of the balcony and steps over Brick in the doorway. He hears her pick up her bag and the sound of her sandals clicking on the hard wood floor as she makes her way to the front door. He tilts his head back, looking to the sky for answers as he hears the front door slam. 

++


	2. Chapter 2

Brick tilts his head at his owner and whimpers a question. He trots over and David reaches down to scoop him up. It’s no substitute for who he wishes could be in his arms right now but it’ll have to do. He follows Brick’s gaze towards the front door and rolls his eyes.

‘I should go after her, right?’

Brick pants and whimpers at him again, his paw on David’s arm. 

‘Go on boy,’ he whispers.

Brick jumps down from his arms and wags his tail all the way to the front door, David grabs the leash and his keys from the table as he goes to catch them both up. He wonders if there’ll ever be a time when one of them isn’t running away with the other one chasing after. He’s too old for these games of cat and mouse and just wishes life would finally slow the fuck down and be simpler. He’s hurting too much to want to be put in the position of being ‘the other man’ but right now will have to settle for it if it’s the only choice he has. A little bit of her is better than none of her, after all.

She didn’t think it was possible to feel any worse than she did before, but she does. She always was one for over achieving. She walks a few paces down the corridor before hearing a click behind her and wipes her eyes again. She stops, not turning around to face him.

‘Brick says you haven’t finished your coffee.’

She huffs out a laugh and he sees her this time, holding her gaze. Her cheeks are red from where she’s swiped away tears but her eyes have their bright twinkle that he’s missed so very much. Somehow he doesn’t care what she’s done or who she’s done it with now. He just wants her back in his life and will take her however he can have her.

‘You wanna come back in?’

She nods, sniffing. ‘Mulder and Scully don’t do so well in hallways.’

‘They dont, do they?’

He reaches out an extended arm behind him, not quite daring to touch her yet as he leads the way back into his apartment. Underneath it all she’s fragile. He knows it and she knows he knows it so every now and then if he decimates her enough a crack in her armour appears and he gets to see through it. They’ve both hurt each other too many times both with actions and words but never enough to cut the other out of their life completely. He’s not sure either of them could ever really do that. 

Brick looks between his master and his favourite visitor expectantly, silent in his willing for them to just kiss and make up already. He scoots to the balcony to leave them to it.

‘We could have made compromises, you know.’

She says nothing for a few beats and just nods.

‘I’d... I looked at the air miles you know. JFK to Heathrow. Numbers add up.’

‘You’d have really done that? The whole back and forth thing.’

She gestures in the air, moving her hand back and forth. He watches it glide through the air, most hypnotised by her movements. He shakes his head imperceptibly. 

‘I can’t believe you’re questioning that I wouldn’t. It was my chance with you. You took it away.’

She sighs dramatically, moving closer to the counter top where he’s leaning. Neither of them have dared touch each other since they re-entered his apartment. She suspects he knows that she can’t accept the straightforward. She has to complicate the uncomplicated, do a one eighty in the face of simplicity. She knows she’s never quite been able to commit herself to him fully, each time holding a little back from him. Clinging to her own sense of freedom, of choice. Heaven knows he wouldn’t deprive her of such things, but without him she can choose the distance she keeps. She can pick up relationships, men, women and give them a front. Show them only what she wants them to see and hand them a smattering of pieces of her so they get a little taster but never the full meal. She’s invested but never fully. 

Over the years he’s the one who's had the most from her, but never the gung ho one hundred and ten percent commitment. She just can’t do it and as much as it saddens him, he knows it. In some ways that’s why he thought a relationship of distance might suit them, give her the control she needed. But she denied him even the chance at that.

‘Did I miss something, did I not do something....’

‘Don’t.’

She cuts him off abruptly, not understanding why he’d begin to put himself through this.

‘What?’

‘Don’t torture yourself over something you know wasn’t your doing.’ 

‘I can’t help it.’

Minutes pass, both of them standing at opposite ends of the kitchen counter. The coffee is lukewarm, the seconds on the clock drift by. There’s not much to say, but at the same time there’s everything that should be said. 

She ventures a little closer to him, closing the space between them by rounding the corner of the work surface. He does the same and then stops himself.

‘I want to be here,’ she starts. 

His hands are dropped by his sides as she reaches out one slim index finger to draw random patterns over his hand, her finger tracing over the indents of the rise and fall of his knuckles. 

‘I want you here.’ 

His large hand moves suddenly to capture the side of her face, his fingers scraping through her hair as he anchors himself there. Her breath quickens as she anticipates his next move, knowing she’ll never lose this 'first time' feeling she has when she’s with him. 

He edges his hip towards hers, tilting his body one way first and then the other. She waits, her head tilting back so she can see into his eyes now he’s closer to her. She leans her head into his hand, while her fingers drift to rub over his palm, to play between his fingers. 

‘I don’t think you’ve ever waited this long.’

‘This long to do what?’

Their voices are both breathy whispers barely carried over the hum of the fridge. She knows he knows what she’s referring to and the fact that he’s playing fills her with a reassurance she’s not felt since she first walked in to see him. 

‘To kiss me.’

‘What makes you think I’m gonna kiss you?’

The hand that’s not twined with hers moves to squeeze her ass, pulling her flush against him. He sways them gently from side to side, a slow dance to silent music only they can hear.

'Your eyes are warm, you...' she whispers. 'Your hand's in mine. Your other hand... Grabbing my ass. Classic signs.'

'Classic?'

'Classic.'


End file.
